


Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?

by HistoriaGloria



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Horror I guess, Inhumanity, M/M, The Apocalypse, The Watcher's Crown, post episode 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoriaGloria/pseuds/HistoriaGloria
Summary: '“Wake up, wake up! Jon, Jon, Jon, wake up!” he manages to choke out. Jon doesn’t stir and Martin winces. He leans back and strikes him hard across the face and the archivist groans, opening his eyes.He didn’t used to have so many eyes.'Jon and Martin fail to deal with a number of things, including but not limited to: their relationship, inhumanity and the literal end of the world.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 299





	Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I just want to write lots of JonMartin, which is, I suppose, fair. This one is just because I really like Many!Eyed Jon and I wanted to have Martin tell Jon that he still loves him.  
> I hope you like it!  
> Title is from The Only Thing by Sufjan Stevens (I would desperately recommend listening):  
> 'Do I care if I survive this? Bury the dead where they're found.  
> In a veil of great surprises, hold onto my head til I drown.  
> Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?  
> Should I tear my arms of now, I wanna feel your touch.'

The end of the world is odd.

At first, so much changes.

Maybe, everything changes far too quickly to notice it all.

* * *

Martin had been heading home from his walk when it all goes wrong. One minute he’s staring out over a field of some very good cows, the next the sky splits open with a horrible sound and a great staring eye appears.

Martin runs.

 _Jon_ , is the only thing on his mind. _What has happened to Jon?_ It doesn’t even take him half the time it should to get back to the safehouse and all the while the world is **_screaming._**

He flings open the door, barely noticing the shattered windows and blown out glass. And he is suddenly very happy that they’re in the middle of nowhere because everything is so wrong, wrong, very wrong.

Jon is unconscious on the floor in the living room. Beside him is the crumpled paper of a statement and Martin feels very ill.

Oh god, what happened? He runs over to Jon and shakes him, trying to wake him.

“Wake up, wake up! Jon, Jon, Jon, wake up!” he manages to choke out. Jon doesn’t stir and Martin winces. He leans back and strikes him hard across the face and the archivist groans, opening his eyes.

He didn’t used to have so many eyes.

“Martin?”

“Jon!”

“Where, what… Oh god, what happened?” He can hear the panic in Jon’s voice, and he can’t swallow down his own.

“I don’t, I don’t know, everything… It’s gone _wrong,_ ” Martin feels like crying and his voice quakes.

“Help me up,” Jon says, firmly and Martin pulls him to his feet. All of those eyes blink in unison and Jon staggers to the broken window. Martin makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and says,

“No, no, no – don’t, don’t go outside. It’s – it’s real bad.” Jon doesn’t even need to turn away from him to see. There’s an eye on the back of his neck now, peering out from under his hair.

“ _Oh god,_ ” he manages to choke out.

“I don’t know if its just here, or-” Martin stops, knowing the answer in his gut. Jon replies anyway,

“No. No, it’s everywhere. They’re all here now.” His original eyes are the wrong colour. All of the eyes are the wrong colour, a piercing bright blue. But Jon’s eyes, the eyes that are still where eyes should be in a human, had always been a rich chocolate. Now, they’re yellow-white and glowing faintly. “I can feel all of it.”

“Jon. Jon, I’m scared.” It sounds like such a stupid thing to say, but looking at the man in front of him, the man with way too many eyes… It’s scary. Just as scary as outside.

“The whole world is afraid, Martin. Because of me,” Jon says and he’s crying. Or is he laughing? His shoulders shake and tears pour from several sets of eyes but there is a hysteria to him. “And The Watcher drinks it all in.”

“Jon?” Martin whispers, more afraid of this than anything.

“Look at the sky, Martin. Look at the _sky._ It’s looking back!” Jon manages to gasp out. He continues that desperate, hysterical laugh. Panicking, Martin does the only thing he can; he holds Jon. He gathers up the man into to his chest, rocking him gently. To his surprise, Jon goes willingly, though he doesn’t stop that terrifying laugh, his whole body shaking with it.

They stay there together for several moments, Martin staring out through the broken window as Jon continues his wailing in his arms. Slowly, the hysteria dies down and Martin glances down as Jon goes completely limp in his arms, eyes closed.

Well.

Most of the eyes are closed.

There is one on the back of his left hand and one in the centre of his forehead which stare, unblinking, up at Martin.

Martin sags. His knees buckle and he only just manages to make it to the couch before they give out on him.

 _What do you do now?_ He thinks despairingly. Most of his life there wasn’t really a simple answer, not after he started working at the archives. But this is the apocalypse. His…

Well. Jon and he hadn’t actually talked about what they were. He loves Jon and Jon loves him; that much Martin knows. But boyfriend seems a little childish for the situation. His lover? His partner? His _Jon_ is out cold, fast asleep.

_Oh god, what is he even thinking?! It’s the middle of the apocalypse and he’s worried about his relationship with Jon having a title._

He sighs, stroking Jon’s hair out of his new eye, in the centre of his forehead.

_How had it come to this…_

As if in answer, the wind now raging through the shattered windows shifts the statement Jon had been reading. It’s easy enough for Martin to pick it up.

**_Statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist._ **

As Martin reads, his blood _boils._ Elias, Jonah, whatever it was that ran the Archives, did this. He used Jon; he purposefully set other avatars on Jon in the hope that he would make it out alive. And then, after everything, he used Jon to cause the apocalypse.

If he ever sees that slimy, backstabbing, heartless piece of work again, he is going to put out his eyes with a corkscrew. See what that does.

Martin is exhausted but he really doesn’t want to sleep when it is all collapsing. He doesn’t know if Jon can… well, see through his open extra eyes.

So, there he sits. Pinching his hand firmly every time his eyes closes in an attempt to remain conscious, for Martin definitely doesn’t feel comfortable sleeping with the screaming outside.

* * *

Jon is slow to wake when he does, a couple of hours later and Martin strokes his fingers through his grey-streaked hair. His eyes remain screwed shut and he gives a weak whimper.

“Jon?” Martin whispers. He hasn’t moved from their spot on the lumpy sofa in the now rather chilly safe house.

“It… it hurts, Martin,” comes the faint reply. “Seeing hurts.” Wincing in sympathy, Martin gently rubs Jon’s temples, just away from the new eyes. They are both quiet for a long time and then Martin mumbles,

“We need to move. We can’t stay here.”

“We need to head back, back to London,” Jon replies, his jaw tense. “We need to try and work out how, how to stop this.” The eyes on his cheeks look up at Martin.

“Okay,” Martin says quietly. Jon’s brow furrows and he sits up.

“Martin, I… I can… I don’t want to do this alone,” he mutters, pressing his face into Martin’s chest. “But I don’t want to ask you to follow me. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Martin snorts, rubbing the back of Jon’s head gently.

“I’m coming, Jon. We’re staying together, remember? I’m not leaving you.” With a sigh of relief, he goes limp against Martin’s chest.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

And then, he opens his eyes.

Jon opens his original eyes and trembles.

“Jon?” Martin says, nervously. His eyes are wide, pupiless and glowing.

“I can **_see_** everything. I can See it all and, oh god, oh god, Martin, I did this, _I did this!”_ he wails and Martin hugs him close.

“Close your eyes, Jon, close them!”

“I _can’t_!” Jon is so close to another panic attack, his voice shaking. Looking around, Martin shudders, trying to find something he can use as a makeshift blindfold.

There. His favourite soft blue scarf. It’s hanging by the door and Martin lunges for it.

“Okay, okay, Jon, I’m going to tie this around your eyes,” he reassures him, holding up the scarf, but he doesn’t think that Jon can actually see him anymore. He’s too busy wailing. Careful of the eye on the back of his neck, Martin ties the scarf around Jon’s eyes, around the pupiless white glowing set. As soon as they are covered, Jon sags slightly.

“Martin,” he says, his voice soft once more.

“I’m right here, Jon.”

“I can see you,” he says quietly. “It’s a little blurry, but I can see you.”

“You have um, more eyes now,” Martin says and Jon snorts.

“I had worked that out. Can, ah, how many?”

“I don’t know. Um, you have one of the back of your left hand, one of the back of your neck, one in the centre of your forehead. I guess you could have more.” Jon gives a slight, almost hysterical laugh.

“Thank you for telling me, Martin. I appreciate the honesty.”

“Is it actually possible to lie to you?” Martin says a little dryly but Jon just shrugs. “Come on, let’s pack up and get moving. I don’t want to stay here too much longer.”

It only takes them a few minutes to pack. Jon is a little disorientated; it is clear he can see through his new eyes, but it’s not very clear vision.

“It’s like, it’s like I’m not wearing my glasses,” Jon explains as he drags on his coat. “Everything is just a block of colours.” Martin nods, pulling on his backpack.

“It’s okay. I’ll be our eyes,” he says. And the irony of it is not lost on him; from Jon’s wry smile, it isn’t lost on him either.

* * *

The travel is long and tiring. They have to go on foot, taking the weapons that they had found hidden in the walls. Jon has a knife and Martin an axe, but they are fairly unprepared.

They head south, following train lines rather than roads. They really don’t want to head into more cities than at all necessary.

They reach a little village a couple of days out and it looks like the Hunt has ripped through it. Most of the citizens are gone, but there isn’t enough blood for it to have been The Slaughter or the Flesh. Martin finds them a house, the door flung wide open and they stumble in. Jon’s legs turn to water quickly and he collapses into the sofa.

“Okay?” Martin asks and Jon nods. He fluctuates between weak, as though he hasn’t eaten in a while and manically energetic, likely to do with the power of the Beholding.

“Tired,” he mutters, rubbing at his leg. He feels nervous now, all the time, but he appreciates Martin’s affection. He always appreciates Martin.

Generally, everything has been slightly odd. His vision is weak, blurs of colour. Rapid movement leaves lines on his vision. But focusing opens him up to the Beholding. And that… that makes him feel sick. All he can See is the horror that he has wrought across the world.

“Jon?” Martin says quietly and Jon turns to him. “You should eat.” There is a bag of crisps pushed into his hand and he nods, moving to eat mechanically. Eating food like a human would.

Humanity is such a… vague concept for himself at this point.

And he _hates_ himself for it.

Martin comes to sit beside him on this very uncomfortable sofa. Silence reigns for a long few moments.

“Martin?”

“Yes, Jon?” Martin says, his hand resting on his arm. Martin never lets him go anymore and Jon can’t thank him enough for it.

“I… Have these.” He shoves the crisps into Martin’s hands. “I’m not hungry.” There is a kiss pressed to his temple.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not human enough to need them,” he says, his voice sharp even to himself. Beside him, Martin sighs heavily.

“Jon…” he mutters. “You’re not-”

“Don’t, Martin!” he says sharply, dropping his head into his hands. “Don’t lie to me. I’m nowhere near human anymore. You read the statement. I’m the _Archive,_ ” he spits. They haven’t spoken about this; Jon doesn’t want to talk about it. But Martin is continuing to pretend that everything is the same.

It’s just a terrible lie.

“You’re not,” Martin says. His voice is sharp, steady. “You might not be human anymore, but you’re still Jon. You’re still _my_ Jon and I’m not going to let you continue to do this to yourself.” Jon goes a little bit limp at that.

“Martin, I did this. I did all of this.” Jon pulls tightly at his hair, his head dropped into his hands. He is so very tired and so far from who he once was.

“No!” Jon jolts at the fierceness in Martin’s voice. “You did not do this. _Jonah Magnus_ did this.” The name is said in the same way Jon may have talked about a particularly terrible spider. He feels Martin’s arm pull around his shoulder as he settles against him.

“I could have done more,” he whispers. “I should have done more.”

“You knocked yourself out trying not to say it. You hurt yourself trying not speak the words into existence.”

“And still this happened! Martin, I’m a monster. I barely even look human anymore.” He hasn’t seen his own reflection often, but the bright blue eyes are certainly disconcerting. Slowly he raises his head out of his hands. “I’m a monster.”

“I don’t care what you are, Jon,” Martin says, and Jon turns to look at him. He’s blurry through the eye on his forehead, but he’s scowling at Jon. And yet, he looks so _kind_. “You’re my Jon and I love you. I will always love you.” Martin moves to cup Jon’s face in his hands.

“I love you too,” Jon whispers, leaning into Martin’s hands. Silently, he is crying, tears relegated to the eye on the back of his neck.

He cries a lot these days. He just doesn’t let Martin know that.

Martin holds his face for a long few moments and then he gives a heavy sigh.

“I’m not letting you go through any of this alone.”

“I know. Thank you,” Jon manages to say. And somehow, deep down in his chest, he feels just a little bit better.

They sit there, in the house that isn’t theirs as the apocalypse rages outside. Jon would be more concerned about that, but it isn’t like they’ve had a particularly normal life in years.

But he does have Martin.

And he will never again take that for granted.

As inhuman as Jon feels, Martin provides him just enough humanity to hold on.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me on tumblr or twitter, HistoriaGloria!


End file.
